


Time for everything

by Ariana (Ariana_El)



Series: The House of Fëanor chronicles [13]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mourning, Post Nirnaeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 21:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18978766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariana_El/pseuds/Ariana
Summary: Working and keeping himself occupied is not enough for Maedhros. Caranthir is perceptive enough to notice that.Set a few months after Nirnaeth.





	Time for everything

**Author's Note:**

> This short story was written for Silmarillion Whump Bingo, but I decided to add it also to my series of fics about the sons of Feanor, because I refer to some details. Don't worry though, the story is perfectly understandable without the other fics.
> 
> Prompt: cry into chest.

Dolmed was a curse and a blessing. The dwarves offered them help and shelter – two things they were in dire need of. There was enough food for everyone and they got some rooms for their wounded, allowing them to heal and rest. There were many things to do, shelters to build, weapons and clothes to mend, precious horses to take care of – enough to keep them all too busy to think.

It was also suffocating. The rooms carved in the mountain, too small for the Eldar. The forges hidden underground, hammers working tirelessly, their banging echoing on the corridors. No chains accompanied the work of both elves and dwarves, but it was only a small relief.

Maedhros never thought he would miss the ever cold Himring so much, but he did. He missed terribly the plain lands visible from his fortress, the high hills and even the grim chain of the mountains in the North where the Enemy dwelled. It was a harsh place to live, but it had been his home for the past few centuries, a place where he could keep his watch and make sure Morgoth would not go south to wreak havoc.

It was all gone now. The hills, the fortress, the other strongholds they had kept for so long. Gone was their strength and their hope, their armies scattered and broken beyond repair. The despair was lurking in the corners, creeping on them and his folk wherever he looked.

And gone was Fingon. Maedhros did not believe at first, would not believe, that all the plans he had crafted so carefully with his friend and his king, all their alliances would in the end bring nothing but death and destruction. And that Fingon would die. This, this just wasn’t supposed to happen.

Having all his brothers around was a small mercy. They reminded Maedhros that there were still things to be done and they kept him busy. After having been their own lords in their own lands, crowding again in such a small place was taxing at best. Disastrous, more likely. But even with all of them ready to argue over the smallest matters, it wasn’t enough. After a busy summer and autumn, which they had spent in the wilderness, winter brought snow and frost that forced them all to hide in their hastily built houses. And what was worse, winter brought idleness. Oh, of course Curufin and his craftsmen continued their work, of course Celegorm and Amras escaped on hunts whenever they could. Maedhros, however, suddenly found himself with more time than he ever wished to spend on his dark thoughts. Everything he had been pushing aside during the last few months just came back to plague him.

His brothers tried to keep him occupied, sometimes without even hiding their intentions. This time Curufin had yet again dragged him to the dwarven forges to discuss their progress and show him what had been done so far. He probably didn’t notice that the underground workshops were the last place Maedhros ever wanted to see; a place where he felt utterly useless, unable to perform even the simplest tasks with just one hand. The eldest son of Feanor came anyway and listened to the plans his brother presented, aided surprisingly by Caranthir, who had apparently grown bored enough to join the work by Curufin’s side and recall what Feanor had once taught each of them. But Caranthir could actually do something useful. Planning was all that was left for Maedhros and he found himself drifting away as Curufin spoke. This one matter could be left in his brother’s care, Maedhros would trust him with that; anything that would not force him to come to the forges he hated so much. It took a lot of effort to hide his dismay; it would do no good if he betrayed his feelings and offended their hosts.

“You are going to bore us to death, Curvo.” Caranthir’s impatient voice broke through Maedhros’s thoughts. “Just get things going, brother.” He spoke to Curufin, but as the eldest son of Feanor glanced up, he saw that Caranthir was watching him closely. Too closely and too perceptively, the way he tended to. Right now he made Maedhros wonder just how successful he was at hiding his urge to flee. Whether Curufin noticed that as well, he couldn’t tell. The smith just looked properly irritated.

“Don’t get upset just because you hardly have things to keep records of,” he snapped back. “You are free to leave if you wish.”

“Are we both?” Caranthir pointed at his eldest brother.

“If you need Nelyo so much... But I can’t think of anything else you could be doing right now.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Caranthir shrugged and rose from his seat. “The blizzard looked unusually charming today,” he claimed mockingly. “Are you coming too?”

A friendly poke in the ribs made Maedhros reach for his knife before he could think what he was doing. With an enormous effort he eased his hand back on his lap and looked apologetically at Curufin.

“I don’t think you need my expertise here, as I can hardly compete with you on that field,” he said. A bit of flattery usually worked well for Curufin, and with all of them being grim and frustrated, it wouldn’t hurt to ruffle his feathers. And probably take Caranthir away before they start arguing over nothing.

“Very well.” With a half-offended huff, Curufin pointed at the door. “Enjoy your blizzard.”

Caranthir didn’t give Maedhros time to think, he simply pushed him slightly and left close behind him, sending Curufin a knowing glance. The smith nodded slightly, though he still looked offended.

“Idiot,” muttered Caranthir when they were far away from the forges, heading towards the main entrance.

Maedhros quirked an eyebrow. “Who?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Caranthir looked at his eldest brother challengingly. “Curvo for dragging you down there or you for being so stubborn – it is a hard choice,” he said bluntly and regretted it instantly, as Maedhros realised at once what he was doing and why he insisted on leaving. Shame and anger appeared on his weary features and he stopped.

“I can’t always hide away from my demons, Moryo.” Clearly it cost him a lot to say it aloud, but Caranthir decided there was no point in pretending the problem didn’t exist.

“Nor do you have to face them all the time,” he replied. “Shall we see that blizzard?” He asked in hope to get a ghost of a smile, but to no avail.

Maedhros ran his hand down his face and sighed. “Is it so visible?” The question was but a whisper. Caranthir didn’t like that Maedhros tried to hide his feelings from them, but he hated that bare, vulnerable side of his brother even more. Maedhros should not have that urge to hide in the first place...

“If it was, Curvo, wouldn’t have dragged you down there.” He claimed with more confidence than he felt. “He can be a pain in the behind, but he’s not that much of a jerk.”

This time he forced some kind of response. Maedhros stopped staring at the ground before him and the look he sent his brother was properly disgusted. “Language, Morifinwe.”

“It isn’t rude to state the truth.” Caranthir shrugged and pushed himself from the wall. “And I know you won’t tell him,” he risked a flash of a crooked smile, but Maedhros didn’t bother to return it. “Let’s go outside,” he added with unusual softness. His brother again had that look of a trapped animal, much like he had had in that human village they were forced to stay in.* No good could come from that.

The blizzard was far from charming, decided Caranthir as soon as they left the protection the dwarven caves provided. They could hardly see the nearest houses in the snow. The wind blew the icy snowflakes right into their faces. Still, Maedhros looked better despite the dreadful weather. He pulled up his hood and kept the sides of his cloak, but otherwise seemed indifferent to the cold.

“Where are you going?” Asked Caranthir as Maedhros passed their house and just kept walking with no apparent intention to seek shelter. “I’ve seen enough of this snow, Nelyo,” he added pointedly.

“I’ll go keep watch,” replied Maedhros absent-mindedly. “You go home.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” Caranthir grabbed his arm. “I’ve got better idea.”

“Moryo...” Maedhros shook his head. “I appreciate your perceptiveness and I’m glad of your excuse. But please, let me be.”

“Not today.” Caranthir crossed his arms on his chest, hoping his brother could not hear his chattering teeth. “I’m going with you, and I’d appreciate it if you chose a place where we would not freeze.”

“It’s not that bad...” muttered Maedhros. His eyes went glassy as he stared at the snow dancing before his eyes. “Finno would claim it’s not even cold really.”

This was the first time Caranthir heard him speak of Fingon since he had shared the news about the king’s death. Seeing that his brother no longer seemed to acknowledge his whereabouts, he grabbed him gently by the elbow and steered him into the nearest stable. Maedhros let himself be led inside. To Caranthir’s relief, the building was empty save for the horses, which welcomed them quite enthusiastically.

“They looked bored,” remarked Caranthir casually. He leaned over the fence and reached to pet the nose of a young black mare, one of the few Celegorm had managed to save.

“No wonder.” Maedhros walked past him. His own mount was looking over the doors, eager to greet his master. The eldest son of Feanor went into the box and caressed his stallion’s neck, indifferent to the muzzle nagging him in search for treats. His eyes were still unfocused and even though he had been usually so careful to guard his thoughts, right now Caranthir could sense his despair.

“You know,” he joined his brother and leaned against the wooden wall separating the boxes for the horses. “You don’t always have to be the eldest.”

“Carnistir... don’t.” The plea came out as a muffled sob. Maedhros rested his forehead on his stallion, his hand clenching at the mane.

“There’s nobody here save for you and me.” Caranthir moved closer and put his arm around his brother’s shaking form. He wasn’t Maglor, who would probably know how to soothe Maedhros and calm him, but of one thing he was certain – burying the feelings never worked for anyone in this family. Maedhros was no exception. Even if he was more restrained since his captivity, letting him suffocate with his grief would result in a disaster.

 “We screwed.”

The sound that escaped Maedhros’s throat was half a sob, half a mad laughter. “Screwed? It’s over, Moryo,” he whispered. “Fingolfin was too quick to judge Dagor Bragollah as our end. He may consider himself lucky he didn’t have to face this.”

“We are still alive. And we are still together.” Caranthir dared to point out. Maedhros whirled from under his arm to face him.

“Are we? I don’t feel alive,” he spat out. “I don’t know whether I want to.”

The grief in his voice made Caranthir shiver. He’d rather face Maedhros’s outburst, wrath even; anything but that dead voice. He wanted his brother alive. “You can mourn him, you know,” he said softly. “I might not have been the closest friends with Findekano, but I do regret his death.”

He could have slapped Maedhros and he wouldn’t have got more violent reaction. His brother looked ready to flee, but then he just sank down the wooden wall separating horses. He covered his eyes with his shaking hand, no longer able to control his emotions, as if avoiding to speak of his deceased cousin and friend was the only reason he had been able to keep them at check.

Caranthir hesitated. He achieved what he wanted, he made his brother open up, or rather he forced him to tear, so leaving was not an option. Nor was calling for Maglor. Caranthir slipped down next to Maedhros and pulled him into an awkward hug.

“You don’t have to be the eldest all the time,” he muttered again. To his surprise, Maedhros didn’t push him away, only leaned to the touch and rested his head on Caranthir’s shoulder.

“It’s my fault he’s dead. They all,” whispered Maedhros after a while. “Don’t deny it. I was blind and I didn’t see traitors among my men.”

Cheeks flushing with anger, Caranthir snapped. “They were my people too. My people who turned against me and tried to stab me in the back.” He took a deep breath, then another, trying to wipe away the images his mind brought before his eyes. “But we are still here, Nelyo. He had not got us all yet.”

Caranthir could swear Maedhros whispered something like _‘what does it matter?_ ’, but his brother just snuggled closer and wept silently, for the first time since the battle. The burden of long months of tireless working and pushing the grief aside weighted him down and as they sat there on the hay, Caranthir doubted they would be able to rise. He didn’t really want.

But there were only so many tears they could shed. In the end Maedhros collected himself, his breathing slowed and the despair Caranthir could sense dimmed.

A snort startled them both. Maedhros’s stallion turned towards them and sniffed, as if intrigued what the two elves were doing. Seeing that they would not be left alone much longer, Caranthir stood and offered his brother a hand. Maedhros reluctantly pushed on his feet and blinked in surprise as Caranthir handed him a brush.

“I think he’ll like it,” Caranthir gestured at the horse, which had lost hope for any treats, but demanded attention. He was pleased to see a ghost of smile as Maedhros picked the brush and started combing the black mane of his horse. Perhaps he didn’t have such a bad idea after all.

**Author's Note:**

> *Caranthir refers to events from Necessity. The story can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14778885/chapters/34180758


End file.
